


Bark

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Mild Pet Play, PWP, Rough Sex, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Reed gets what he deserves.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 9
Kudos: 271





	Bark

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This could be a sequel-ish to [Bribed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370167)?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He makes it maybe two steps through the door before he’s instantly assaulted—he’s grabbed by the collar of his shirt and thrown right to the ground. Gavin hits the floorboards with a nauseating crunch—he throws his hands down just in time to keep his head from splitting open. He hears the door slam closed behind him and the click of the lock. Basic training kicks in—Gavin rolls onto his back, reaching for his gun.

It’s already gone. The RK900 gives it a little shove and it goes sliding across the floor, disappearing right under the couch. Now that Gavin sees his assailant, he wouldn’t have used it anyway. He could’ve probably pulled off a warning shot, but there’s no warning RK900—he’s not afraid of anything. And he’s far too expensive to risk damaging. Gavin probably wouldn’t be able to afford the replacement parts, and he’d have a hell of a time explaining how the damage happened—that he was so easily overpowered in his own apartment by his own damn android.

RK900 looks down at him like it’s the other way around; like Gavin’s _his_ good little human. Gavin pushes up on his elbows, only to be grabbed by the throat and jerked upright. RK900 steps easily behind him to rip away his coat, tossing it aside, and then his shirt’s coming up over his head. A boot lands in the middle of Gavin’s chest and pushes him back down. He grunts as the back of his head knocks against the floor, and his hands fly up to grab that boot, but it’s already gone. RK900’s kneeling down to rip open his belt. 

Gavin hisses, “I can do it myself—” but either RK900 doesn’t hear or doesn’t care. Gavin’s belt comes loose, his pants are opened up, and they’re pulled unceremoniously down his legs with his underwear and socks all in one go. He’s left completely _naked_ , utterly bare, like he was going to make RK900 be when Gavin first brought him home. Gavin had barked out the order, and RK900 has smirked, pushed him over to the kitchen counter, and fucked him over it until he forgot what it was he was saying. Now Gavin’s the one that tends to walk around in just boxers or less. RK900 prefers him in briefs. RK900 seems to like watching him workout in nothing, tightening his six-pack and hard abs, watching sweat roll down his pecs. Gavin’s never felt like such an _object_. Maybe it’s karma. His dick’s already hardening. RK900 doesn’t even make note of it—he seems to already know and accept that Gavin’s libido is as big as his mouth. 

Gavin still has _some_ dignity. The second his last sock’s ripped off his left foot, he quickly rolls around, getting up on hands and knees, and he tries to crawl forward—tries to make it to the rug in front of the couch so he won’t get scraped raw again. Preferably, he’d like to get up on the couch, maybe even the bed, have some nice padding under his fragile human skin—but there’s no chance. RK900 pulls him right back into place, one ironclad arm looped tight around his middle. Gavin looks over his shoulder.

It’s so _weird_ , working with Connor, seeing Anderson smirk all day because he thinks he’s won the lottery: that he’s the only one with a pretty pet flittering around him. Gavin’s android almost has the same face, except his eyes are grey-blue instead of brown, and there’s a flare of _life_ in him that Connor won’t ever have. The RK800 is _nothing_ compared to its 900 counterpart: a faster, stronger, _hotter_ version, better in every way. The RK900 is full of _fire_ , and he bends over Gavin like he’s going to breathe it all right into Gavin’s shivering body. 

The apartment’s cold against his bare skin, but he feels like he’s boiling up anyway, because RK900’s hands rake down him, leaving red trails in their wake. RK900 still has his full suit on, but he seems to radiate heat like a living flame. One warm hand kneads back along the hump of Gavin’s ass, and then two fingers are sliding between his cheeks, searching for his hole.

A cool liquid’s drizzled over him—RK900 seems to carry lube everywhere he goes. He doesn’t ever have condoms: that’s the beauty of a machine that can’t spread disease. Gavin always gets to feel him _raw_ , with every excruciating little detail of that glorious android cock.

He can feel the light scratch of RK900’s blunt nails as he pets Gavin’s hole, pushing into it, stroking its brim, coaxing it ever wider. Despite Gavin’s racing heart, he tries to _relax_. He knows _exactly_ how massive RK900 is, how much his thick cock will hurt if Gavin’s not ready. Now Gavin’s helpless to do anything but try. He sucks in a breath and tries to flex himself wider, taking two of RK900’s skilled fingers, then three, and they toy with his insides like a true artist on a grand piano. RK900 knows everywhere to touch, all the right places to dig into, he stretches Gavin open and fills him up with more and more, until Gavin chokes out, “Nine—”

RK900 slaps his ass, and Gavin yelps. He cries louder when those fingers rip away. They’re replaced a second later with the warm, spongy tip of RK900’s cock—Gavin chokes, and it thrusts right on in. He screams so loud that the neighbours must loathe him.

He can’t believe he’s never been written up for noise complaints. RK900 shoves smoothly in, rocking deeper without pause, and Gavin screams himself hoarse in the process. He’s wet, leaking, wide, but RK900’s _enormous_ and Gavin can’t help clenching tighter. RK900 digs greedy hands into his hips and slams forward at a merciless pace, breaking Gavin right down. 

He forgets what he was doing. What he wanted. Everything that happened at work is replaced with _this_ : RK900 brutally pounding into his fucked-open hole. RK900 pulls him back with each thrust, driving him onto it, grinding in so deep, and some thrusts make Gavin see stars while others just leave him boneless. He loses himself in the delicious feeling of just being _used_.

He can feel RK900 bending over him, one hand straying up his side to play with his hair. A fist clenches in it and wrenches him back—Gavin gasps and feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He’s forced to arch at an impossibly angle, because the other hand keeps holding his hips down. RK900 hums thoughtfully, voice utterly unaffected by the intense sex, “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees, Gavin...? I’m wondering if I should ever let you get up again...”

If he had the wherewithal, Gavin would grit his teeth. It’s not an android’s place to talk to him like that. _He’s_ the one that should be in control. But it feels so sinfully _good_ to be manhandled and used like a brainless cocksleeve. At least his dick has no complaints. 

He feels himself reaching the edge of tolerance and knows his arms and legs are going to give out any minute. RK900, never one to miss any details, seems to know that too. One hand darts under Gavin’s body, just in time—RK900 grabs his cock, knuckles shielding him when he collapses and hits the floor. RK900 goes right down with him, legs spreading wider to make it, cock still buried to the hilt. RK900 angles himself differently and keeps right on thrusting between Gavin’s spread cheeks, while Gavin whines against the wood. 

RK900 doesn’t stroke him, just squeezes him lightly, and even that dull, aching contact is enough. Gavin pulses in RK900’s cruel grip, knowing he won’t make it much longer. He tries to issue a warning, maybe a plea, but he’s panting too hard to form words. He can feel the sweat beading along his back. He’s jack-hammered into the floor without any respect for the downstairs neighbours. 

Out of nowhere, Gavin comes. He shrieks his lungs out and spasms in RK900’s hands, spilling all over his own floor, knowing RK900 won’t clean it up. His mind washes white with the sheer force of it, and RK900 fucks him right into his own forming puddle, not letting up. Only when he’s just started coming down does RK900 explode, spilling a torrential flood of artificial seed into Gavin’s tight hole. RK900 always comes _way_ too much; Gavin can feel it leaking out of him, slicking down his thighs, and RK900 pounds every last drop in as deep as it can go.

By the time RK900’s done, Gavin’s _wrecked_. His cheek is turned against the floor, mouth open, maybe drooling. His eyes are clouded, lashes heavy. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

RK900 jerks out of his body. Gavin winces but doesn’t move. He watches, strangely detached, as RK900 tucks himself back in and stands up.

RK900 nudges Gavin’s body with his boot as though to check that he’s still breathing. Gavin grunts but can’t say any more. He feels like he’s taken a whole football team up his ass. It stings, but in a good way.

RK900 wanders away. Gavin stays right where he is, not surprised when RK900 returns to drop a dog collar in front of him. RK900 coolly drawls, “Put it on.”

Gavin somehow wheezes, “Bite me.”

It has the desired effect; RK900 knees down and does it himself—roughly slotting the collar under Gavin’s throat and fastening it up in the back. A small noise of pleasure snakes out of Gavin’s throat before he can stop it, and RK900 doesn’t miss it; he smiles. 

He runs his fingers through Gavin’s sweat-slicked hair and asks, “Are you going to be a good boy today, Gavin? Can you make it to the bedroom on your own, or should I fetch your leash...?”

A part of Gavin wants to snarl and spit in RK900’s face, because no android gets to treat him like a dog.

The rest of him is fucked too stupid to fight it. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s mumbled, “Woof.”

RK900 snorts. He reaches over to slap Gavin’s ass, and that works—Gavin winces and pushes half-heartedly back up to hands and knees. All four quiver. But Gavin makes it, always good when it means he’ll get to be _bad_.


End file.
